A Rare Sight At A Dog Show

Our holiday is more or less history now. Since I got back I’ve already done a 10k (Friday), been to the match (Saturday) and today done a dog show. It’s Sunny Scunny today, Scunthorpe that is and yes it is actually sunny.

We get three clear rounds out of four and graze the top ten twice without actually getting in there. On the course where we weren’t clear, Doggo had a pole down but he’d say it wasn’t his fault. I reckon he’d blame the judge because I think he was momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight glinting off the judge’s shiny black tights. I could see him thinking ‘blimey the judge is a babe’ or was that me thinking that... Seriously, the judge was a tall leggy blonde in black tights and a short skirt, and yes, female. You probably have no idea how rare a sight this is at a dog show.

Holiday report.

Well we headed down the M5 after resisting the temptation to load Son up with thirty pizzas and perhaps a whole truckle of cheese to keep him alive whilst we were away. Instead we hoped he might even cook for himself, when the pot noodles ran out obviously.

In the end we missed Devon by about five miles and ended up in Somerset at Porlock. L and I had our first holiday away together there in 1996, ah the romance of it, and revisited there five years or so ago to reminisce. On that occasion we got distracted by a beer trail that was happening in Dorset when we should have been retracing the steps of our first trip. A mistake we won’t be making again as we discovered we didn’t even really like the beer on that trail. So we return for a third time with just the two dogs and a sixteen year old to shatter the romantic ambiance.



As I mentioned yesterday training was restricted to three four-miles runs which was part of L’s proposed strict fitness regime which she wanted to keep to whilst we were away. However, she neglected to write it down so that I could keep her to the rest of it, as I would have done in strict taskmaster style.

Overall it’s a fun relaxing time, as we enjoy the ‘barbecue summer’ with only the occasional monsoon. We had considered moving south but in the end we stay put, only straying down to Woolacoombe for the day where my brother is staying. Coincidently in the same part of the country for the same week.

We consume some excellent food and a ridiculous amount of alcohol, copious amounts of the wonderful Exmoor Stag but not enough Otter Ale which ran out on day two. There are lots of firsts, MD finally gets his paws wet in the sea and joins Doggo among the waves. Daughter discovers that if you go paddling in tights they don’t exactly wear that well and we don't find any branches of Top Shop among the thatched cottages, country pubs and cheese shops. This is a relief to us, but not to Daughter. Suppose she did need some new tights.



We had a motorbike rally set up across the campsite from us and we expected to be kept awake by a succession of wild late night parties or at least get an invite to one but they seemed to be a very sedate bunch. The wild late night parties were clearly happening closer to home, according to Facebook that is, where Daughter found some of her friends discussing going to a ‘gathering’ at... err... our house. L rings Son to find out just exactly what’s going on, with visions of police raids as they shut down yet another illegal rave advertised on Facebook. Son assures us that if a group of sixteen year old girls turn up at the house he will turn them away. Yep that’s what I would have told my parents as well.

The next day, Daughter, again on Facebook, finds photos of one such ‘gathering’ of folks in what looks uncannily like our kitchen... but then we realise that they’re from a previous occasion. Party central our place you know.

Far too soon the week is over and we ring Son to tell him we’re on our way home, which panics him a bit as he informs us he needs to shift two of his mates off the sofa before he gets into tidying up mode. They can’t actually be sleeping on our sofa, our sofa is not really comfortable enough to sit on let alone sleep on, unless you’ve consumed a ridiculous amount of Strongbow... ah.

Doggo looks absolutely gutted that we’re leaving so soon and wants just one more dip in the sea but ‘one more dip’ is never enough is it Doggo? I imagine he’ll refuse to get out of the car when we get home, again.



We arrive home and the house is actually tidy-ish, with plates washed and put away. So Son can do it when he wants to. There’s collateral damage naturally. A few broken dog trophies, sob sob but nothing too heartbreaking, and lots of signs of people having been where they shouldn’t have been but generally not as bad as I feared. Although L doesn’t look quite so convinced.

Damn, work tomorrow.